"Tell me, Father," said the child at Rodolph's knee,—"tell me of the king."  
"There is no king, my child," said Rodolph. "What you have heard are old women's tales. Do not believe them, for there is no king."
 
"But why, then," queried¹ the child, "do all the people praise and call on him; why do the birds sing of the king; and why do the brooks³ always prattle⁴ his name, as they dance from the hills to the sea?"
 
"Nay," answered Rodolph, "you imagine these things; there is no king. Believe me, child, there is no king."
 
So spake Rodolph; but scarcely had he uttered the words when the cricket in the chimney corner chirped⁶ loudly, and his shrill⁷ notes seemed to say: "The king—the king." Rodolph could hardly believe his ears. How [Pg 148]had the cricket learned to chirp⁵ these words? It was beyond all understanding. But still the cricket chirped, and still his musical monotone seemed to say, "The king—the king," until, with an angry frown, Rodolph strode from his house, leaving the child to hear the cricket's song alone.
 
But there were other voices to remind Rodolph of the king. The sparrows were fluttering under the eaves, and they twittered noisily as Rodolph strode along, "The king, king, king!" "The king, king, king," twittered the sparrows, and their little tones were full of gladness and praise.
 
A thrush sat in the hedge, and she was singing her morning song. It was a hymn⁸ of praise,—how beautiful it was! "The king—the king—the king," sang the thrush, and she sang, too, of his goodness,—it was a wondrous⁹ song, and it was all about the king.
 
The doves cooed in the elm-trees. "Sing to us!" cried their little ones, stretching out their pretty heads from the nests. Then the doves nestled hard by and murmured lullabies, and the lullabies were of the king who [Pg 149]watched over and protected even the little birds in their nests.
 
Rodolph heard these things, and they filled him with anger.
 
"It is a lie!" muttered Rodolph; and in great petulance¹¹ he came to the brook².
 
How noisy and romping¹² the brook was; how capricious, how playful, how furtive¹³! And how he called to the willows¹⁴ and prattled¹⁵ to the listening grass as he scampered¹⁶ on his way. But Rodolph turned aside and his face grew darker. He did not like the voice of the brook; for, lo! just as the cricket had chirped and the birds had sung, so did this brook murmur¹⁰ and prattle and sing ever of the king, the king, the king.
 
So, always after that, wherever Rodolph went, he heard voices that told him of the king; yes, even in their quiet, humble¹⁷ way, the flowers seemed to whisper the king's name, and every breeze that fanned his brow had a tale to tell of the king and his goodness.
 
"But there is no king!" cried Rodolph. "They all conspire¹⁸ to plague me! There is no king—there is no king!"
 
Once he stood by the sea and saw a mighty¹⁹ ship go sailing by. The waves [Pg 150]plashed on the shore and told stories to the pebbles²⁰ and the sands. Rodolph heard their thousand voices, and he heard them telling of the king.
 
Then a great............